A chance meeting
by flyin'rabbit
Summary: He had never expected to meet her, and she's tired of all the attention she gets. Is there even any hope for these two?


**A/N**: Some odd plot bunny I had the other day. Hopefully you'll enjoy it! (oh, and just to be clear: *** = POV-change)

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the world of Harry Potter

* * *

Sure, he had heard of her; she was one of the Tri-Wizard Champions. Her picture had been all over the Daily Prophet last year. It was widely known that her grandmother was a Veela. Yet he had never thought meeting her (if you could call gazing at someone meeting them) would be like this. He was almost starting to regret graduating the year before the Tournament took place.

Although, that would have meant a year without Quidditch.

She was even more beautiful in real life than she appeared to be in pictures. He was certain that she could feel his eyes on her, certain that she would be laughing (or sighing) to herself at yet another suddenly completely enamoured man who only had eyes for her.

What was Fleur Delacour even doing in a place like this? Sure, it wasn't shady here, like it was in the Hog's Head, but the Leaky Cauldron seemed much too normal and dull for someone like her. Heck; _Britain_ in general seemed much too dull for her.

He never had much time for girls, but who wouldn't be at least a little bit attracted to this beautiful young woman? She hadn't looked at him once, hadn't uttered a single word, and yet he was strangely lured towards her; but then again, so was the rest of the male clientele at the pub.

He was here with his team, celebrating another victory. That was their tactic; victories were celebrated in the Leaky Cauldron, losses had to be drowned by alcohol and (hopefully) forgotten there. Girls like her weren't found on Quidditch pitches, or even in the stands.

The moment she entered the pub, she felt all eyes on her. Whatever everyone had been doing previously, they were now watching her closely. As usual. Ignoring all the stares, she made her way over to the bar and ordered a drink. Luckily, the bartender was used to her coming for a drink every day after work by now. He, at least, had the decency to _act_ as if he wasn't affected by the Veela charm that surrounded her.

Whispers broke out as soon as she sat down at one of the few empty tables available, and she knew what to expect next. A whole line of men, trying to impress her, but actually completely embarrassing themselves (and her in the process). Perhaps she should sit at the bar next time. If men would line up for her, then, this place might make some money out of this. Merlin knew it could use some refurbishment.

Before she knew it, she heard a soft cough from her right, and there was her first suitor for the night. That was quick. They usually let her _at least_ start her drink. Fleur examined him shortly and came to the conclusion that he looked a whole lot younger than most men who ever came over. Whether that was a good or a bad thing, she didn't know yet. At any rate, he wasn't bad looking.

"Can I 'elp you?" she asked politely, trying not to show her irritation with males like the one in front of her.

"Uh – " He looked around uncertainly, and a couple of other men at a table behind him started cheering.

"'oo are zey?" It wasn't rare that groups of men dared one another to come up and talk to her, so she wasn't really surprised by this. Nevertheless, she was curious.

"Oh," he answered, looking slightly embarrassed. "They're my Quidditch team."

Fleur now raised an eyebrow. _Quidditch, huh?_ She wasn't exactly into the sport, but Quidditch players were usually rather well built, something that could certainly be said of this one. "You're a Quidditch player, zen?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"Er – yeah… do you mind if I sit down?" he asked her, indicating the chair opposite her.

"Go ahead," she replied charmingly. As he had seated himself, she urged him, "By all means, tell me more." It seemed that this man (boy?) would be able to provide more entertainment than she got most of the time. At least he didn't just stammer at the sight of her.

His face brightened as she said that, which made her re-think her previous statement. "Well," he started, "I'm Oliver Wood, and I know who you are, of course, I mean, you were a Tri-Wizard Champion just recently – "

"Oh, you 'eard about zat?" she asked airily. It was always nice to talk about that. "Yes, eet was quite ze spectacle. You were not zair, right?" She inclined her head to one side. "I do not remember you."

"No, that's right," he said with a small smile on his face. "I graduated the year before that, sadly."

She nodded. "So you knew Deeggory, right?"

He looked up from his hands. "Diggory? Oh yes, I knew him. Beat Gryffindor at Quidditch in my last year." Then, his face turned grim. "Of course, it's horrible what happened to him, though."

Fleur nodded sadly. "Eet was terrible." She sighed dramatically. "And you know 'Arry?" she continued as if nothing was wrong. She immediately knew that she had asked a wrong question now.

"Harry? Harry Potter? Do I know him? Of course I know him! Best Seeker I've ever seen!" From there, Oliver started ranting about Quidditch, and Fleur now raised both her eyebrows. For a moment, she had expected him to say that of course he knew the saviour of the world, or the winner of the Tournament. But no, everything he seemed to be able to think about was Quidditch. Such a shame.

After a while, he seemed to remember that she was still there as well. With a nod towards her glass, he asked, "Do you want anything else to drink?" She smiled at his question, a little forced though.

"Yes, zet would be lovely," she answered stiffly. She briefly closed her eyes while he went to order some new drinks. And here she had thought that he would be able to provide some entertainment tonight. To be honest, she was bored out of her skull.

When Oliver came back with their drinks, she managed to down hers in two large swigs, causing him to look absolutely (and, Fleur had to admit, somewhat adorably) shocked. "Now," she said, slamming her glass back on the table, "wair were we?" His eyes widened, obviously completely misunderstanding her words. Fleur, however, couldn't just let him get away now. She had listened to him (alright, she couldn't really call what she had done listening, dozing off was a better term), so now, he was going to listen to her.

Fleur became bored rather quickly when having to listen; of talking, on the other hand, she would never grow bored. But maybe that was something women in general were born with.

"You know, I've never really understood Quidditch," she told him, and as he opened his mouth (undoubtedly in an attempt to explain the game to her), she added, "I mean, I understand the rules, but what eez so special about eet anyway?" Seeing she had hit a nerve, she continued. "I mean, eet messes up your 'air, eet de'ydrates your skin, eet causes your nails to break…"

From there, she continued talking about how important it was to her to look good every single moment of every single day. It was true, but she also knew how dull boys found topics like this. And indeed, it wasn't long before his gaze became less focussed. But she wasn't done yet.

She tried to recall everything that had happened to her at the Tri-Wizards Tournament, which was a lot. She might have preferred talking about her job at Gringotts, but the 'job' issue might get Oliver talking about Quidditch again, and besides, what was there to tell about Goblins and money anyway?

As he started looking at the time more and more frequently, Fleur knew that she would have to finish the conversation quickly, before he would.

"Well, eet 'as been a pleasure meeting you, Oliver," she said. His head snapped up suddenly.

"Uh – what?" he asked in confusion. "Yeah – I mean, it was nice meeting you too, Fleur. I should _really_ be going now." Another glace at the time. "Wow. Time flies when you're having fun, eh?" He laughed nervously and stood up.

Fleur flashed him another flawless smile. "Yes, indeed." _Merde_. He had beaten her to it now. "Goodbye, Oliver." Oh well. At least he had bought her a drink. That was something, right? Before he had even left the pub, she heard another cough coming from her right and she plastered another smile on her face before glancing over to the new man who was obviously craving for her attention.

He didn't know how fast to get out of the Leaky Cauldron. Not from embarrassment, or something like that; no, Oliver had remembered just now why he loved Quidditch so much. He had wasted a perfectly fine evening listening (or pretending to listen) to, most likely, the most superficial girl in the history of mankind. Quidditch was much more interesting than that.

* * *

**A/N**: Well, what do you think? Was this realistic, plausible, absolutely horrible? Let me know, please review!


End file.
